


His Dream Job

by NotADalek



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Office, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:19:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1844188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotADalek/pseuds/NotADalek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson, a mildly popular blogger, finally has the chance to work for the best magazine in London. But to do that he has to collaborate with the famous -and apparently out of his mind, Sherlock Holmes and fly away with him on a dangerous adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Dream Job

John had been dreaming about the interview for weeks. Or- was it really dreaming? Does it count as dreaming when you’re lying on your bed thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong while sweating like a pig? No, probably no. Regardless, the agony was soon to be over. Here he was, outside the door of “Conan” magazine – still sweating like a pig – in his best shirt.

He took a small breath and stepped through the doors. With steady steps he walked to the receptionist. She was a woman of a certain age, not what you typically see behind the reception desk.

“Hello dear, how may I help you?” she said smiling, as if he had come for cookies and not for a life-changing opportunity.

“I’m…John Watson” He said nervously “I have a meeting with Miss Adler?”

She leaned towards the screen of her computer, clicked the mouse for a second or two and smiled “Ah, yes dear! Her office on the fifth floor; she’s waiting for you.” She smiled and nodded towards the right of the room. He nodded, said thank you under his breath and found his way to the elevator. To get inside he had to push some people, step on some feet and make everyone terribly uncomfortable but the elevator was half empty by the time they reached the fifth floor. 

It is going to be disastrous. I've never written for serious magazine. I can’t write about politics…Come to think about it I have absolutely no idea about politics. I am about to make a total fool of myself. I should never have agreed to this.  
He had walked half the way to Irene Adler’s office and was about to turn around and start running away when he heard a loud voice coming from a door next to him. “NOT GOOD ENOUGH! IT’S NEVER GOOD ENOUGH!” Then came a loud bang; something metallic had been thrown on a wall. He instinctively looked towards the direction of a sound. It was obviously an office of someone very important judging from the fact that it was on the same floor with the administration of the magazine. The door however had no inscription indicating the name or profession of its occupant. It was half open and John Watson was curious man, so he peeked. 

The room was filled with cigarette smoke and ripped paper. The rug was barely visible behind the huge pile of books, magazines and pictures. Even though the office was untidy (to say the least), there was something brilliant about it. Perhaps it was the fact that it seemed like a painting. The amazing furniture, the way the light coming through the huge window danced with the cigarette smoke in the air, the black-haired man who had his back turned to John and was currently rubbing his temples. The item that caused the noise John had heard some moments before seemed to be a metallic dumpster whose contents -mainly cigarettes and emptied paper-cups of coffee- were now added to the “decoration” of the floor. But what caught John’s attention was the wooden tablet sitting on the desk. On it was the name of the black-haired man.

S.HOLMES. 

“Sherlock Holmes!” John said silently. The very reason John read the Conan magazine. His favorite journalist of all time. His role model. Sherlock Holmes was sitting right there visibly frustrated with tones of junk surrounding him. John could have sworn he whispered the words Sherlock Holmes, nevertheless Mister Holmes turned his head as if John had just screamed into his ear. His green eyes narrowed a bit and his jaw tightened.  
“Yes I’m Sherlock Holmes, and you are?”

“John Watson” John said suddenly out of breath. He had read every single article, every single word written by this man and yet he had never seen a picture. John had imagined him to be old (at least fifty) with some extra weight, and perhaps even a smoking pipe. The image seemed now ridiculous. What John had in front of him was a man in his thirties with curly black hair and a skin so pale you’d think he hasn’t been outside for years.  
“Big fan” John added feeling quite uncomfortable by the fact that he was currently speaking with the most successful journalist of London.

At the sound of the word “fan” Sherlock Holmes’ eyes seemed to lock on John the way a snake’s would on its pray “How did you get past Mrs. Hudson?” He said angrily.  
Seeing the blank look on John’s face, he added “The receptionist! For Christ sake; are all my fans complete idiots?” He said the word fan as if the sound of it disgusted him.  
“No, Mister Holmes you don’t understand, I’m here for an interview.” John said and Holmes’ expression turned into total confusion. “You know…there’s an opening? New writers wanted…for something?”  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “There’s no ope-.” He stopped, hit by a sudden realization. “OH! I see how it is!” He stormed outside and decisively opened the door of Irene Adler’s office. John started walking slowly to the same direction unsure of what was happening and what he was supposed to do.  
He heard Irene Adler before he could see her “Oh Sherlock I've told you a million times, you should knock first! I could have been doing something important. Apologize please.” Her voice was soft and she sounded quite amused. She seemed quite amused too. John was blown away by the fact that, she too, was not only quite young but also extremely beautiful. Her long dark hair was falling on her shoulders and her lips, blood-red, were smiling almost sardonically. John wandered if she and Holmes were together.  
“Apologize? YOU should apologize. You’re giving MY story to someone else? Do you want to destroy this magazine’s reputation? Do you know if this person can even write?”  
Sherlock Holmes seemed to be completely out of his mind. He was yelling and hitting Irene Adler’s desk with his right hand. John wondered if he should feel insulted, but the whole situation seemed so unreal that he couldn’t possibly get offended.  
Irene Adler sighed and smiled. “Mister Watson, won’t you come in? He doesn't bite, I promise!”  
John walked reluctantly into the office while giving Sherlock Holmes, who was now sitting on a couch pouting like a child, an apologetic look. He sat on the chair opposite of Irene Adler and she smiled at him this time showing a set of marble white teeth. If everyone was so goddamn handsome in here there was no way he had even the slightest possibility of getting the job.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through this” She nodded towards the direction of the couch. “He’s not very friendly when he feels threatened” Sherlock made a small snorting sound in response.

“Look Miss Adler, I don’t want to take Mister Holmes’ article, I know it must be very important for him”  
“This article was not Mister Holmes’, he just wants it very badly; he’s under the impression he’ll get some sort of award for it. But I want to try new things. Sherlock is good, there’s no denying that, but he’s too much of perfectionist and lately too much of a nervous wreck!”  
“I’m a professional!” Sherlock Holmes protested.

“Hush now love, I’m speaking with Mister Watson.” She said and made John think that perhaps they were indeed dating. The thought of being in the middle a couple’s fight made him very uncomfortable. Sherlock just glared at her in response and she continued.  
“Mike Stamford has told me all about you. He said your blog is interesting and that you’re very talented. I must say I’m quite impressed myself”  
Ignoring Holmes’ whispered comments (like “A blog for Lord’s sake”) John mentally thanked his friend Mike, an acknowledged book critic with great influence, often writing for Conan magazine. John had never asked for him to find him a job but his friend always wanted to help, he was just waiting for the right moment. The right moment came two days ago when Mike said there was some sort of an opening for a journalist in Conan magazine and that he had spoken about John. And now Irene Adler had read his blog and Sherlock Holmes was making demeaning comments behind his back. This was as close to perfection as it gets.  
“Thank you” John said while trying to seem modest and down to earth.  
“Can I just interrupt this wonderful little conversation here?” Sherlock said standing next to John. Well it was hardly a conversation from John’s point of view. It was hardly an interview. He had been here less than thirty minutes and everyone was yelling and interrupting each other. He wondered if he was ever going to learn what this article was actually about.  
“You do know that I’m the best journalist this magazine ever had.” Sherlock continued and although what he said was obviously true he made it sound so arrogant that John, his number one fan, had suddenly a great urge to hit him across the face with a book.  
“Well-.”  
“No, you let me finish. I am not a nervous wreck, it’s called working, something half of our staff isn’t very fond of doing. You know that this article is important and,” he leaned forward coming very close to her face making John extremely uncomfortable again “you are going let me write it”  
“Okay love” She said with a smile. John’s heart sank. Great how was I supposed to compete with Sherlock Bloody Holmes. What kind of joke was this anyway? He’d gone there for an interview and the minute he stepped in all hell broke loose. Damn you Mike Stanford! I actually thought I had a chance at working in this madhouse.

She stood up and walked around the office until she reached John’s seat softly placing her hand on his left shoulder. “But you will have to work with Mister Watson”  
“What?” Both John and Sherlock Holmes said at the same time.  
At the same time yet not in the same way; Sherlock’s what had come out like a hiss while John was mostly stuttering. Working with Sherlock Holmes: the prospect would have seemed like a dream coming true some hours ago; now John Watson was legitimately scared for his life (especially judging from the journalist’s glare flying from Irene Adler to John Watson). He seemed again like some sort of carnivore.  
Miss Adler just smiled and moved her hand from John’s shoulder to Holmes’ cheek. “Do you want half an article or no article?” she said. Sherlock Holmes was furious. He moved away from her hand threw one last look at John before saying. “When can we leave?”  
Leave? Leave from where? To where? Was he quitting? We ? As in him and me?  
“As soon as Mister Watson agrees and is available. And Sherlock… be a dear and fill him in on the case.”  
Sherlock Holmes made a sound (something between a hiss and a snort) and stormed out of the office. A few minutes later after he had accepted the collaboration (even if he still knew nothing about the article he was supposed to write), he found himself outside Holmes’ office. When he looked inside the room he found the famous journalist searching frantically through his files while smoking. When he saw John he grimaced, threw his cigarette on the floor, stepped on it, grabbed one of the files and threw it at John’s feet. “There, that’s the subject. Read it over the night if it’s not too much to ask. I’d like to leave as soon as I can, with or without you.”  
John remained still starring at the yellow file on the floor before him. He felt like he should say something. Sherlock Holmes was a legend and he would get to work with him. Something like Mister Holmes I am so honored to work with you, I’m sure it’s going to be a unique experience (even though you’re a complete dick). Instead he just picked-up the file and left without even saying goodbye. On his way home he felt dizzy, he opened the file just one bit, enough to see the words “criminal” and “Paris” written in the first page. Whatever it was he would be a fool to say no.


End file.
